stripes of green, red, blue, or orange, were hauled down, ready for action, and the wooden tents, which can be hired for the season at any foreign watering place, were being swept out and arranged for the day’s use.

Some of the more pretentious ones, belonging to private families, were surmounted by a gilt coronet, the proud possession of the Comte Darblaye, or the Herr Baron Grumplestein--sported flags moreover of France or Germany, and were screened from the eyes of the vulgar, by lace or muslin curtains, tied up with blue ribbons. On the balcony of the Lion d’Or, where the visitors always took their breakfast, were arranged tables, piled with dishes of crevettes, fresh from the sea, pistolets, and beautiful butter as white and tasteless as cream. It was a delight to breakfast on the open balcony, with the sea breeze blowing in one’s face, and in the intervals of eating prawns and bread and butter, or perusing the morning papers, to watch the cheerful scene below.

The Baroness was there, early of course. She, and her husband, and the ill-used Bobby, occupied a table to themselves, whence she addressed her remarks to whomever she chose, whether they wished to listen, or not, and the Baron shelled her crevettes and buttered her pistolets for her. Margaret and Elinor were rather later than usual, for Mrs. Pullen had not passed a good night, and Miss Leyton would not have her disturbed.

Harriet Brandt was there as they appeared, and beside her, a pale, unhealthy-looking young woman, whom she introduced as her friend, and travelling companion, Olga Brimont.

“Olga did not wish to come down. She thought she would lie another day in bed, but I made her get up and dress, and I was right, wasn’t I, Mrs. Pullen?”

“I think the fresh air will do Mademoiselle Brimont more good than the close bedroom, if she is strong enough to stand it!” replied Margaret, with a smile. “I am afraid you are still feeling weak,” she continued, to the new-comer.

“I feel better than I did on board the steamer, or in London,” said Mademoiselle Brimont. She was an under-sized girl with plain features, and did not shew off to advantage beside her travelling companion.

“Did you suffer so much from sea-sickness? I can sympathise with you, as I am a very bad sailor myself!”

“O! no! Madame, it was not the _mal de mer_. I can hardly tell you what it was. Miss Brandt and I occupied a small cabin together, and 

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